“I could say the same, lass.”
He infused his words with regret, the notes akin to pain. Oh, he was a skilled deceiver. If she had not overheard his exchange with Gerard, she’d be tempted to believe his concern was for her welfare, not getting his hands on a cursed—and likely priceless—ruby.
She steeled her heart. “I know the truth, Connor MacMasters. I heard you. And your brother. You intend to keep the book from Cranston, even if that means leaving my niece in the villain’s clutches.”
He scowled. “So, ye were listening. Damned shame ye didn’t do a better job of it.”
“I overheard enough to know you have no intention of taking me with you.”
“Ye think I want to see a woman make herself vulnerable to Cranston’s kind? I dinnae want ye anywhere near those bastards. On that count, I stand guilty as charged.”
“But what of your promise?”
“I will honor every word. I will bring that child to safety. But I willnae stand by and watch ye put that pretty neck of yers on the line.”
“My neck…my safety is not your concern.”
“And if I say it is?”
“Then you, Mr. MacMasters, are a fool.” Unshed tears scalded her throat. “Just as I am.”
“Ye’ll get no argument from me in that regard.” Connor’s flinty voice stirred a sensory warning. “But if ye think I’m letting ye walk out of here with that book and a few coins to see ye to Cranston, ye’ve gone daft.”
“I assure you I am not daft, as you call it. I am determined. I will find a way.” She showed him her back. “You have no right to keep me here.”
He caught her shoulders and turned her to him. With one hand, he cupped her chin. His eyes burned with an emotion far more intense than passion. “I care about ye, Johanna. That gives me the right.”
She held herself very still, willing herself to be strong, willing herself to remember that his words would not bring Laurel to safety, no matter how ruthlessly they lay siege to her heart.
“You have already proven you are prepared to deceive me, no matter the cost. It appears I must walk this path alone.” Her voice cracked on the final syllable. How she detested the way her feelings betrayed her.
He shook his head, his eyes hard as the cut of his jaw. “Alone? As if I would allow that to happen.”
“I don’t see that you have any choice. I will not be deterred. I will make it to my niece. With you…or without you.”
“There is a way.” He stared down at her, seeming to deliberate his words. “But ye’ll have to trust me.”
“Trust? Such an absurd demand coming from a man who left the bed we’d lain in to scheme against me. Why would I believe a word out of your conniving mouth?”
“Because ye have no choice. Even if ye make it to Cranston, he won’t free the child until he has the stone in his possession. Ye need the ruby.”
The logic of his words punched the air out of her. “You never planned to surrender the stone. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because ye need me, Johanna. Even if ye’re unwilling to see it.”
Chapter Thirty
The pain in Johanna’s eyes plowed into Connor like a brawler’s fist. Bugger it, she’d overheard just enough of his heated exchange with Gerard to conclude the worst. Her distrust was a dirk to the chest. Christ, she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. She believed him to be as duplicitous as the cur who’d put the bairn in harm’s way. Hadn’t he proven himself by now?
She’d taken the damnable book and prepared to distract him with a half-hearted seduction, but she hadn’t counted on her own body betraying the truth. Her words might’ve been sultry, but her touch had been strangely cool. She’d approached him like a woman performing a task, one last duty before finding a way to leave him.
The ache in his gut was real. He was a fool to feel anything at all. It wasn’t as if he’d never felt the sting of betrayal. He’d watched his brother die after trusting the wrong woman. Hadn’t he learned a pretty face could be the ruination of a man?
Johanna’s lack of faith carved an angry wound in his chest. After a night in his arms, she’d assumed the worst. After he’d worshiped her body, exploring the sweetness of the curves she concealed beneath too damned many layers of cotton and wool. After he’d loved her with a passion that permeated his being.
He’d loved her.
The thought seemed a mallet to the skull. No woman had ever kindled such desire, a wanting that permeated his being.
Until Johanna.
Bah! He was letting his bollocks do the talking. He’d never been such a bluidy fool. Love was for…other men. Men who didn’t live their lives one day at a time, never looking beyond the next mission. Men who didn’t lie down in a different town every night. Men who didn’t question if they’d live to see the next sunrise.